


i need something to believe in (throw my hands up to the ceiling)

by hawksonfire



Category: Marvel
Genre: Afterglow, Anal Sex, Background Sam/Bucky, Bar Fight, Blowjobs, Bottom Bucky Barnes, Boys Kissing, Bucky has one arm, Clint is oblivious, Competitive Clint Barton, Competitive Steve Rogers, Day At The Beach, Deaf Clint Barton, Dom Clint Barton, Dom/sub Undertones, Drunk Steve Rogers, Drunken Shenanigans, Friends With Benefits, Lesbian Maria Hill, Lesbian Natasha Romanov, M/M, Sort Of, Sub Bucky Barnes, Top Clint Barton, alcohol consumption, background Thor/Jane, background Tony/Pepper, its a whole different type of thigh fucking, steve is an idiot, thigh fucking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-24
Updated: 2020-03-04
Packaged: 2020-07-19 04:42:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 10,506
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19968211
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hawksonfire/pseuds/hawksonfire
Summary: 68 separate unrelated prompts written as a series of unbirthday ficlets for my buddy.





	1. 1: Oblivious Friends with Benefits?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Flowerparrish](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Flowerparrish/gifts).



> happy unbirthday bro, love you <3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> we’ve been casually sleeping together since freshman year and sometimes we hang out as friends, but neither of us have really defined the relationship beyond that until you introduce me as your significant other

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: we’ve been casually sleeping together since freshman year and sometimes we hang out as friends, but neither of us have really defined the relationship beyond that until you introduce me as your significant other
> 
> Pairing: Winterhawk
> 
> Rating: E

**Clint**

“Y’know, I don’t remember the first time we did this,” Clint says casually. It’s probably not the best time considering that Bucky is bouncing on his dick as he says this, but Clint’s always had pretty bad timing when it comes to the important shit.

“Excuse me?” Bucky pants, staring at him incredulously. “You wanna do this now?” Clint shrugs.

“Maybe in a few minutes,” he allows, because Bucky has _incredible_ control over his muscles. _All_ of them. 

“That’s what I thought,” Bucky says smugly, breaking off into a gasp as Clint meets him coming down and thrusts up. “Fuck!”

“I’m tryin’, honey,” Clint says, the endearment slipping from his lips before he can stop it. He winces but Bucky doesn’t react, his eyes closed and a blissful look on his face as Clint fucks him. 

“Fuck, Clint I’m -” Bucky gasps out a warning, gives one final bounce, and comes with a choked off moan, splattering Clint’s chest with his come.

“Unh, Bucky -” Clint swears as Bucky clenches down on his dick and his brain whites out, hips stuttering up into Bucky’s heat. He comes back to himself when Bucky lifts himself off of Clint’s dick with a grimace, hopping off the bed and grabbing a washcloth. He barely manages to catch the one Bucky throws at him, his brain still not fully online after his orgasm. 

“You were saying something about our first time?” Bucky asks, pulling on a pair of boxers and climbing back into bed. He tucks himself under Clint’s arm and looks up at him, and Clint’s brain takes two extra seconds to come back online. 

“Yeah,” Clint says blankly, trying to remember where he was going with that, “I don’t remember it.”

“We were pretty drunk,” Bucky says thoughtfully. “But I remembered enough to know I wanted to do it again, clearly. You don’t remember anything?”

Clint shakes his head. “I remember being at Steve’s birthday party the night before, drinking a lot - too much, probably - and then waking up in your bed the next morning. If you hadn’t already been awake, I probably would’ve snuck out and left, honestly.”

“I’m glad I was awake then,” Bucky says, amused. “Why on earth did you agree with me when I said we should do it again then?”

Clint shrugs. “Have you seen yourself? Gorgeous guy like you tells me we fucked the previous night away, and I’m supposed to let a little thing like memory stop me? Uh, no. Don’t think so.”

“You’re an idiot, Barton,” Barnes says fondly. “What if I’d made you lick my boots clean or somethin’?”

Clint shrugs, smirking. “Then I’d have found that out the next time you wanted a piece of this, and - well, probably would’ve given it a shot, if I’m being honest.” Bucky snorts. Clint jostles him, laughing. “What? You know I’ll try nearly anything once.”

“Oh boy, don’t I,” Bucky sighs. “Remember that thing with the butt plug and the chocolate sauce?”

Clint shudders. “God, never again.”

“Agreed.” They lay in Bucky’s bed for a bit, enjoying their afterglow, and then Bucky says, “Hey, you wanna go catch that new superhero movie that came out last week? I’ve been meaning to go see it, but Steve won’t go with me.”

“Because he has taste,” Clint scoffs, dodging the elbow Bucky throws his way. “Yeah, fine, I’ll go. But you’re buying the snacks.”

“Obviously,” Bucky scoffs. He wiggles his way out from under Clint’s arm, then climbs out of bed and starts getting dressed. “C’mon, you’re gonna miss that archery thing you wanted to do if you stay any longer.”

“You know about that?” Clint asks as he’s pulling on his underwear.

“Yeah, you told me last week, remember?” Bucky says from the washroom. “The thing with the famous marksman at the range on campus? You mentioned it when we were leaving Fury’s.”

There’s a little fuzzy feeling in Clint’s chest at the thought that Bucky actually listens to Clint’s half-drunken rambles, but he squashes it as he pulls on his shirt. He can’t go letting himself have fuzzy feelings towards Bucky. That will not end well. “Oh, yeah I remember. He’s supposed to be among the best in the world - I’ve just got a couple questions for him. No big deal.”

“The way you were talking about it last week says otherwise,” Bucky says, walking out of the bathroom and pulling his hair into a bun. He’s mastered doing it with only one arm, but sometimes he still misses a few hairs. Clint clicks his tongue and beckons him over, pulling Bucky’s hair into a bun only slightly neater than the original, tilting Bucky’s head back and forth to examine the final product. 

He catches Bucky looking at him with a fond expression on his face and raises an eyebrow. “What?”

Bucky shakes his head. “Nothin’. C’mon, I wanna see those arms of yours.”

“You just spent an _hour_ seeing them!” Clint complains, but he follows Bucky outside anyway. 

“I was a little focused on the dick up my ass,” Bucky says, amused. 

“It’s a good dick,” Clint agrees. Bucky snorts. “What, am I not allowed to appreciate my own assets?”

“You’re allowed, sure,” Bucky says, bumping Clint’s shoulder as they walk, “But you shouldn’t ever say ‘it’s a good dick’ ever again. That’s my job.”

Clint raises an eyebrow expectantly. “Well?”

Bucky rolls his eyes, then with a faint blush on his cheeks, says, “It _is_ a good dick.”

“Ha.” Clint’s got a smug grin on his face, and he very firmly does not notice the way his hands are brushing up against Bucky’s as they swing by his side. When they arrive at the archery range, they knock the snow off their boots and hang up their jackets, then walk over to the small crowd of people surrounding the man they came to see. 

Clint sees a flash of red hair, facing away from him as its owner speaks to a younger kid, and suddenly his stomach is in knots. He stops walking abruptly, and it takes Bucky a couple more steps before he sees that Clint isn’t beside him anymore. “Hey, what’s up?” Bucky asks, looking concerned. 

“Uh...” Clint says, unsure.

“Nerves, huh,” Bucky says knowingly. He grabs Clint by the hand and tows him forward. “Well, only one way to get over those.”

Clint’s brainpower is sorta split between knowing that he’s about to meet his idol, and also the fact that Bucky is holding his hand. Just grabbed it, like it didn’t mean anything. Clint’s a little surprised how much he wants it to mean something. He thought he was fine being Bucky’s fuckbuddy, but apparently not? Wow, is he ever bad at reading his own feelings. He’s so caught up in this new revelation that he almost misses how Bucky introduces him.

“This is Clint Barton, best archer I know - also happens to be my boyfriend, which means I’ve got special knowledge on how to handle him when he’s bein’ dumb.”

“Hey!” Clint objects on autopilot. “I’m always dumb.”

“I know, sweetheart,” Bucky says softly, patting his cheek. “But I love you anyway.” Clint blinks. Did he just - Bucky Barnes just said he - what? Clint’s mind is spinning, and he’s so caught up in the fact that Bucky just said he _loved_ him that he barely manages to not drop the bow that’s just been shoved into his arms.

“Well? C’mon Barton, show me what you got!” Clint looks down at the bow in his hands and then over at Bucky, who just smiles at him and gives him a little thumbs-up, and then he faces the target. What else can he do? He nocks an arrow, draws the string back, aims... The thud of the arrow into the target unspools a knot of tension in his shoulders, and by the time the following few minutes are up, Clint feels a lot better. 

He turns around, grinning - and comes to a dead stop at the awed looks on the faces staring at him. “You’re a hell of a shot.”

He shrugs, running a hand through his hair. “I’m not so great.”

“Don’t downplay your abilities,” Natasha Romanov says sternly, a small smile playing at the corner of her lips. “You could go far, shooting like that.” Clint grins sheepishly, a proud blush on his cheeks. 

He grabs his arrows from the target, and as he’s walking back towards the group of people, absently twirling an arrow on his fingertips, Bucky falls into step behind him. “You delivered,” he says.

“My arms wanted to be seen,” Clint shrugs. 

Natasha Romanov leaves pretty soon after that, but not before she tucks a piece of paper into Clint’s arm guard - “My personal number,” she says, winking, “Come shoot with me sometime. Bring your boyfriend.” 

Clint sputters out something, hopefully something suave and cool (he’s not holding his breath) and gives a dumb little wave as she walks away. “Since when are we boyfriends?” He blurts out when he turns to find Bucky watching him.

Bucky looks confused. “Since last year? We got dinner at that restaurant, went for a walk by the river? I literally _asked_ you to be my boyfriend?”

“You asked me to be exclusive!” Clint protests. 

“What did you _think_ that meant?” Bucky says, incredulous. 

“I dunno,” Clint says, shrugging, “You wanted steady dick? I’m not a mind reader, Barnes!”

Bucky’s face softens. “I know, sweetheart. Lemme make this real clear for you, then.” He cups Clint’s face in his hands and presses a kiss to his nose. “You.” Kiss on the cheek. “Are.” Other cheek. “My.” Forehead. “Boyfriend.” Mouth. Mouth!

Clint kisses back numbly, his mind racing. “Boyfriends, huh?” He says when Bucky pulls away, searching his face. Bucky nods cautiously. “I can work with that.”

“Oh, I’m so glad,” Bucky deadpans. 

“Hey, you know I’m about as observant as a rock!” Clint protests, blushing when Bucky tangles their fingers together. 

“Maybe only when it comes to feelings, both yours and other peoples,” Bucky allows. Clint shrugs helplessly. “I’ll be clearer in the future,” Bucky says, amused. 

“That’s probably for the best,” Clint says, relieved that Bucky isn’t mad. And then, “I’ve got some serious boyfriending to make up for, don’t I?”

“Oh yeah,” Bucky grins, “I’m looking forward to it.”

Clint snickers. “Better get started then. One boyfriend with a good dick, coming up!” 

(Bucky changes his rating from ‘good’ to ‘great’ later. Clint’s very proud.)


	2. 2: Competitive Beach Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt: my beach ball keeps landing near you and your friends so eventually you just join our game of keep-up and you might be just as competitive as I am

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: my beach ball keeps landing near you and your friends so eventually you just join our game of keep-up and you might be just as competitive as I am
> 
> pairing: amerihawk (Clint/Steve)
> 
> rating: Teen and Up Audiences

**Clint**

Clint genuinely, honestly,  _ truly _ does not understand how people can just laze about at the beach. He’s been on his back, laying on his towel for all of two minutes, and he’s already twitchy and bored out of his skull. “Stop moving, ястребка,” Tasha says from beside him. She’s not even looking at him (Clint’s pretty sure her eyes are closed). 

“I’m bored,” he whines, like an adult. 

“Go jump in the ocean.”

“But it’s cold!” Clint huffs.

“Sight-see. People watch. Ogle the hot people, you slut.” Maria chimes in from Tasha’s other side and Clint glares at her. 

“I don’t remember asking you,  _ Ria _ ,” he mutters, crossing his arms petulantly. He’s still mad that she stole his towel. It’s the perfect fluffy towel, all soft and - Clint’s yanked out of his towel grumping when a beach ball lands in front of him with a  _ smack _ , sending little grains of sand flying into his legs. 

“Shit! I’m so sorry, it slipped through my fingers!” A blond Adonis of a man comes jogging up to them, an apologetic look on his face.

“No worries, bro,” Clint says, tossing the ball back, “No harm done.”

“Sorry again!” The Adonis yells, catching the ball and jogging away. 

“His swim shorts are too small,” notes Tasha, tilting her sunglasses down. 

“It’s the best,” Clint agrees, watching the Adonis’ butt as he goes back to his game. He jogs over to a group of people, three more guys and a girl, holding up the ball in triumph. They all cheer and resume their game of what looks to be keep-away, diving and tackling each other into the sand.

“Clint,” Tasha says.

He turns to look at her and she raises an eyebrow. “What?” He protests. “I’m people watching, like Maria told me to.”

“Oh sure, now you listen to me,” Maria mutters.

Clint glares again. “Look, if you had just  _ told  _ me to stay away for the night -”

“You don’t need to know the details of our sex life!” She bursts, crossing her arms.

Clint throws his hands in the air. “I agree! Therefore, if you had  _ told _ me -” He’s cut off when a beach ball slams into the back of his head none too gently, making him blink. “Ow."

“Shit! Are you okay?” Blond Adonis comes racing over, a horrified look on his face.

Clint rubs the back of his head with one hand and grabs the ball in the other. “Y’know, a guy might think you’re doing this on purpose.”

Blond Adonis shakes his head furiously. “I’m not, honest! I can get a bit competitive, and my friends tend to use that to their advantage. It won’t happen again.”

“Uh-huh.” Clint tosses the ball back, a wry grin on his face, and Adonis jogs away, turning around halfway back to his friends and giving a sheepish wave.

“He’s cute,” Tasha observes.

“You’re gay,” Clint responds. 

“I can appreciate the  _ aesthetic _ , Clinton.” Her voice is scathing, and Clint snickers. 

“Yeah, I know, I know. It’s funny watching you get all riled up, though.” 

“Clint, look -” Maria shout of warning is cut off when the beach ball slams into the side of his face, knocking one of his aids loose and making his skin sting. 

“Son of a bitch!” Clint swears, fumbling at his dangling aid. 

“I am  _ so _ sorry,” Adonis says, cringing as he comes to a stop in front of Clint. “I swear I’m not -”

“Doing it on purpose, yeah, I know,” Clint mutters, waving a hand. He scoops the ball under his arm and holds out a hand to Tasha and Maria. “You two comin’?”

Tasha takes his hand and lets him pull her up, but Maria refuses and pushes herself up, nearly falling over on the sand. “What are you doing?” Adonis asks nervously, shifting on his feet.

“Well, considering that you’ve now hit me in the head  _ twice _ with your ball,” Clint says, starting to walk in the direction of Adonis’ friends, “You clearly don’t know how to handle this ball. So, I’m going to show you when I kick your ass.”

“Oh, is that how it is?” Adonis asks, a glint in his eye. 

“That’s how it is,” Clint agrees. “Me, Tash, and Maria against you and two of your group. Winner gets bragging rights, and possibly something else.” He lets his eyes run over Adonis contemplatively before meeting his eyes again.

“Done.” Adonis holds out a hand. “Steve.”

“Clint. That’s Natasha and her girlfriend, Maria.” He jerks his head towards them and they nod at Steve. 

“Rogers, you get our ball back?” A dark-skinned man shouts, skidding to a stop in front of them.

“Nah, got us a couple new players, though,” Steve says, gesturing towards them. “Sam, this is Clint, Natasha, and Maria. I owe them a game or two. Guys, this is Sam. That’s James over there,” he points at a brunet with a wicked looking prosthetic, “Thor and his girlfriend Jane,” at a Viking-esque dude and a woman who looks  _ tiny _ next to him, “And that’s Tony and Pepper, lounging over on the chairs.” Tony and Pepper raise a glass in their direction idly, eyeing them curiously.

“Your boy here needs to be taught how to play,” Clint says, smirking at Sam.

“Hey, he’s not my boy!” Sam holds up his hands, grinning. “He’s a free agent, but you’re right - he does need to be taught how to play.”

“Seems like you do as well,” Tasha says, lowering her sunglasses, “Otherwise you might be able to keep the ball from hitting Clint here in the head.”

“The face,” Clint corrects, winking at James as he slings an arm around Sam’s shoulder. “It hit me in the face.”

“Of course, my mistake,” Tasha says blandly, “It’s hard to see the damage he did underneath all that was already there.”

Clint gasps scandalously, bumping her shoulder. Sam and James snicker, and Steve looks between them, confused. “C’mon, Nat, stop teasing the poor bastard,” Maria rolls her eyes, pulling her hair up into a bun. “We doing this?”

“You sure you can keep up with us?” James says, eyeing Tasha and Maria’s small frames. 

Clint laughs. “Oh boy, you’re in for it now.” Maria grins wickedly, cracking her knuckles, and Tasha calmly hangs her sunglasses from her bathing suit top. 

“I’m terrified,” James deadpans.

“I would be,” Clint says solemnly, winking at Steve as he turns around. “Rules?”

“No dick shots, no hair pulling, no biting,” lists Sam, “But other than that...” He shrugs, raising his hands cockily. “It’s basically a free-for-all. Get the ball past Pepper to score a point, we’ll try and get it past Jane.”

“No biting,” Tasha muses, pulling her hair up as well. “So many options, then.”

“Play nice, dear,” Maria says softly. Tasha gets up on her tiptoes and kisses Maria’s cheek gently.

“Don’t I always?” She says, a smile quirking her lips.

Clint ends up facing off with Steve while Tasha gets James and Maria gets Sam. “I’m sorry in advance,” Steve says, wincing. Clint raises an eyebrow. “Sam ‘n’ James can get a little... Aggressive.”

“I’d hope so,” Clint says easily, nearly laughing at the look on Steve’s face. “They wouldn’t stand a chance otherwise.” Before Steve can answer, Tony whistles, loud and shrill, and they’re off. Clint grabs the ball from Steve before he can react, tossing it to Maria. She grabs it out of the air and slides through Sam’s legs, passing it to Tasha.

Tasha tucks it under her arm and bolts directly at James, which he clearly wasn’t expecting. He stumbles and holds out his arms, intending to trap her - she doesn’t give him the chance, just plants one hand on his shoulder and leaps gracefully over him, sprinting over to Clint and putting the ball into his arms. He flips over Steve’s attempted dive-tackle, dodges Sam’s leg and trips him in return, and blows past James (who still looks a little starstruck at Tasha’s move) to come to a stop just behind Pepper’s chair. 

“Nice to meet you, I’m Clint,” he says, grinning and barely out of breath as he presents the ball. 

“Pepper,” she says, one eyebrow raised. 

“Tell me you play professionally or something,” Steve groans, shoving Sam off of him and getting up. 

Clint shrugs easily, twirling the ball on his fingertip. “Would you believe this is only my second time playing?”

“Not in a million fuckin’ years,” Steve shakes his head. 

“Yeah, you’d be right,” Clint laughs. “It’s the teammates that make the play, though.” He gestures over at Tasha and Maria, who have apparently decided that Thor and Jane are the most interesting people on the beach.

“You three work well together,” Steve notes. 

“Me an’ Tasha have been friends for years, and Maria’s a quick study,” Clint shrugs. “Explains why we kicked your ass, though.”

“Rematch,” Steve says, pushing out his jaw stubbornly. 

Clint shrugs. “If you can get your team to agree, sure.” Steve turns to face James and Sam, and upon seeing the look on his face they groan. 

“Dammit, Clint!” Sam complains. “Why’d you have to go and challenge him? Steve’s the most competitive son of a bitch I’ve ever met!”

“Oy!” Steve objects. “Watch how you talk about my mother!”

“Most competitive, huh?” Clint says, grinning. “Bet I’ve got him beat.”

“Not if we win the next round,” Steve says.

“Well, you’ll have to make it worth my while,” Clint says, shrugging. “I’ve already got bragging rights.”

“Loser buys dinner,” Steve blurts, cheeks going red. Clint raises an eyebrow, despite himself, and Sam and James let out a low whistle.

“Way I see it, Steve,” Clint says lowly, “That’s a win for me either way.” Steve swallows, and Clint follows the bob of his throat lazily, dragging his gaze across Steve’s face to meet his eyes.

“Is that how it is?” Steve asks, his voice hitching in the middle. 

Clint grins slowly, letting his tongue dart out to wet his lips. “That’s how it is,” he murmurs. 

“Guess I’ll just have to try extra hard, then,” Steve says. Clint hums in response and tosses him the ball. 

“Loser’s serve,” he says, bowing sarcastically. 

“Oh man, we aren’t gonna let him get away with that, right? Right, Steve?” James says, rolling his shoulders. Maria and Tasha take their places beside him, staring down Sam and James, and Clint grins. 

“No, I’m not,” Steve breathes, just barely loud enough for Clint to hear him. Clint winks at him. 

“I’m game when you are,” he says, staring Steve in the face. Steve grins at him ferally, then Tony whistles and they’re off. 

It’s a much tougher game this time, as the other team knows what they’re capable of now. But they’ve still got a few tricks up their sleeve, and three games later, the score is tied - two each. “Winner takes all?” Steve offers, pushing his sweaty hair out of his eyes. 

Clint strips off his shirt, snickering silently when he hears Steve choke behind him. “I’m cool with that. Ladies?”

Maria snarls at him, wringing out her shirt. James had tossed her in the water last round to stop her from scoring, and she was  _ pissed _ . “I’m going to eviscerate him.”

“Tasha?” Natasha’s got a smear of dirt across her cheekbone, and her knees are scraped to shit after she dove after Sam and slid across the sand. She doesn’t say anything, just curls her lip in a silent snarl. Clint winces. This is going to get ugly. “Looks like they’re a go,” he says, turning back to Steve.

“Don’t forget, loser buys dinner,” Steve breathes, suddenly very close to Clint’s face. 

“I like pizza,” Clint winks, and Steve snorts. 

“Good to know.” 

“C’mon lovebirds!” Sam shouts. “We ain’t got all day.” Steve flushes bright red and Clint laughs loudly. 

“We should listen to the man, Steve,” he says, tilting his head. 

Steve’s eyes flash with something, and then his mouth is on Clint’s. He nips at Clint’s lip gently, licking away the sting. Clint promptly drops the ball and gets with the program, lifting his hands to Steve’s hair. Before they can get there, though, Steve pulls away panting. “Break a leg,” he says, hair mussed and grinning. 

He’s the most beautiful thing Clint’s ever seen - but that doesn’t stop him from getting mad as Steve saunters away with the ball. “You’ll regret that, Rogers!” He shouts. He stalks over to Maria and Tasha, grumbling. “We’re going to crush them,” he informs the two women, and they jerk their heads in a nod. 

“Like  _ bugs _ ,” Maria snarls, shoving her hair out of her face viciously. They get into place, Clint facing Steve, and wait for the whistle. 

“You seem distracted,” Steve says innocently.

Clint shrugs. “Just thinking about returning the favour.” Steve grins at him and opens his mouth, but Clint continues before he can say anything. “Wouldn’t kiss you on the mouth though.” He lets his gaze drop lower, stopping at the spot between Steve’s thighs, then lifts his gaze back to Steve’s face, eyebrow raised.

Tony whistles, and Clint grabs the ball, vaulting over Steve and sprinting for their goal. He’s trusting Tasha and Maria to keep Sam and James busy, and they don’t disappoint him - he catches a glimpse of Maria holding James’ arm in a painful position and Natasha is shoving sand down Sam’s shorts. 

His feet pound the sand and he slides past Pepper’s chair just as arms wrap around his waist, sending him flying forwards as Steve tackles him. “Looks like I lost,” Steve mutters. 

“Looks like,” Clint answers, staring up at him from the ground. “I believe there was some mention of dinner?”

Steve flushes. “You said you like pizza, right?” Clint’s laughter echoes across the water as he nods, grinning brightly. 

“I think maybe this was a win-win scenario for me too,” Steve says softly, lowering himself until his nose brushes Clint’s. 

“Glad you got with the program,” Clint breathes, and then Steve’s kissing him again and all thoughts fly out of his head. Well, until Tasha dumps a bucket of cold water on them, anyhow. 

“You’re disgusting,” she says, looking down at them, “There are children here.”

Steve groans and buries his head in Clint’s shoulder. “To be continued?” He asks.

“To be continued,” Clint agrees, running a hand down Steve’s back. He’s pretty sure that he forgives Steve for hitting him in the face with a beach ball now.


	3. 3: Steve is a Drunken Idiot

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> my drunk friend announces in the bar that I'm in love with you, but we didn't know you were here with your friends too

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: my drunk friend announces in the bar that I'm in love with you, but we didn't know you were here with your friends too
> 
> pairing: winterhawk (Clint/Bucky)
> 
> rating: teen (for violence)

**Bucky**

“Get off the table, Steve!” Bucky snickers into his beer as Sam tries to pull a _very_ drunk Steve off a table and back onto solid ground. 

“But Sam,” Steve whines, “It’s fun up here! You should join me!”

Sam groans, pulling Steve back towards where Bucky’s sitting. “Gonna pass on that tonight, Rogers, but if you still wanna table dance with me tomorrow, let me know.”

“I’m gonna - I’m gonna hold you to that, Sammy boy.” Steve is swaying on his feet, cheeks flushed and eyes glazed over. 

“I think you’ve had enough,” Bucky says, plucking Steve’s glass from his hand and sliding it to the other end of the table. 

“Buck! Bucky, my buddy, my pal,” Steve says, leaning in close. His breath stinks like alcohol and Bucky grimaces. “Guess what?”

“What, Stevie?” Bucky asks, trading an amused glance with Sam. Drunk Steve is fun. 

“I saw him today!” Steve leans back, his attempt at a serious look completely derailed when he nearly falls into Sam’s lap and grins dopily up at him.

“Saw who?”

Still grinning up at Sam, Steve says, “Whatshisface, the guy you’re totally in love with! Brixton, Bethesda - Barton! Clint Barton, that guy.”

Bucky flushes, looking around the bar. They’re a ways away from their neighbourhood, so the likelihood of Clint being there to hear Steve’s declaration of Bucky’s love is highly unlikely - but still. “Shut up, Steve!” He hisses, shoving ineffectually at the blond’s arm. 

“You’re no fun,” Steve grumbles, but he perks up when the bartender makes an announcement that they’ll be opening the karaoke machine up for a couple hours. “Bucky! Karaoke! I gotta!”

“You go do karaoke, sport,” Bucky says, and Sam gives Steve a shove in the direction of the stage. 

“Man, he is going to hate us for letting him drink this much tomorrow,” Sam laughs, watching Steve stagger through the crowd.

“Please, like he doesn’t know that anyone trying to stop Drunk Steve from doing anything is gonna get a fist to the face,” Bucky responds.

Sam tilts his bottle at Bucky in acknowledgement. “So,” he says, raising an eyebrow, “Barton, huh?”

Bucky turns red. “It’s not like that,” he mutters. Sam looks at him incredulously. “Okay fine, it’s a little like that. I seem to have a penchant for collecting disaster blonds.”

“Clearly,” Sam says dryly. 

“This one goes out to my best friend, Bucky Barnes!” A shout from the stage draws their attention, and both Bucky and Sam have to stop themselves from spewing their drinks all over the table when they see Steve up there with a microphone. 

“Oh no,” Bucky breathes, mortified. 

“Oh, yes!” Sam cackles, pulling out his phone. “I have to record this.” 

“You gotta tell him how you feel, Bucky!” Steve yells. “You gotta tell Clint Barton that Bucky Barnes loves him!” Music starts playing and Steve starts to sing - some shitty pop song Bucky’s heard on the radio a couple times.

“Oh god,” Bucky groans, letting his head slam into the table. 

Sam winces. “Could be worse,” he offers.

“How?”

“He could be here.”

Bucky lets out another groan at the thought, refusing to look up. “I’m going to kill him,” he mutters into the table. Something is set onto the table in front of him and he looks up to see a waitress. “I didn’t order this,” he says, staring at the beer - his favourite brand, too.

“It’s from the guy by the dartboard,” she says, pointing in that direction. Bucky turns his head to look and finds blue eyes staring right back at him, set above blushing cheeks and a sheepish smile. “What the absolute fuck is Clint Barton doing at this godforsaken bar?” He hisses at Sam.

Sam stares, gaze darting between him and Clint. “Aw man,” he says, “I am so sorry.”

“I am genuinely going to kill Steve,” Bucky says, studiously avoiding Clint’s gaze. “Straight up murder. Not even gonna regret it. Don’t even care that I’m gonna go to jail for it.”

“Don’t get any blood on his sneakers,” Sam says. At Bucky’s blank look, he shrugs. “What? I’ve been looking for a pair of US flag sneakers, and if Steve’s dead, I’m sure he’d want me to have them."

“I make no promises,” Bucky says. His prosthetic creaks alarmingly and he realizes that his grip on his beer bottle is so tight that the bottle is dangerously close to shattering in his grasp. 

“Well, I’m going to go get the idiot before he makes an even bigger fool of himself,” Sam says dryly, draining the last of his beer and sliding out of the seat.

“I hope he falls off the stage and lands on his head!” Bucky calls after him as he walks away. He stares at his beer bottle blankly for a few seconds, and then a shadow blocks out the light. “Did you let him fall - shit.”

Clint Barton stands in front of him, sheepish smile on his face and hand in his hair. “So,” he says, “I hear you’re in love with me.”

Bucky snarls at him. “Yeah, I’m really not in the mood to be teased about how I feel so if that’s why you’re here, you can fuck off or I’ll take a broken bottle to your hands.”

“Damn, Barnes, you really know how to make a guy feel special,” Barton deadpans, and Bucky growls again and makes to get out of his seat. “No, wait!” Bucky raises an eyebrow at the blond man, pausing. Barton winces. “Look, I’m no good with apologies or feelings or any of that - I tend to muck them up more often than not. My friends even gave me a script on what to say to you when I came over here - I’m not following it so far.” Bucky’s eyes follow the jerk of his thumb to find two women staring at them. The redhead raises her glass to Bucky when she sees him watching them and the black-haired girl mimes shooting Clint in the head - with a bow?

“Going off-script isn’t always bad,” Bucky says, settling back into the seat now he knows Clint’s not there to make fun of him. 

“Yeah, well. When I do it, most of the time it doesn’t end so well.” Clint shrugs. “I’m used to things not going my way, so when I heard your buddy - Steve, right? - say that you were in love with me...” 

Bucky tenses. “Steve’s a dumbass.”

Clint slumps. “Does that mean what he said ain’t true? ‘Cos I was plannin’ on asking you out, if it was.”

Bucky blinks. Did he really just - did that just happen? “Excuse me?”

“I figured I had no shot a while back, when you were going out with that chick - what was her name... Maria? Figured you weren’t into guys,” Clint says, wincing. 

Bucky leans back in his chair, studying Clint. “I’m equal opportunity,” he says, heart speeding up a little when Clint perks up.   
  
“Yeah?” Clint asks breathlessly. Bucky nods. “Well then, Bucky Barnes, what would you say to going out on a date with me sometime?” 

Bucky opens his mouth to respond and is immediately cut off when Steve lands on their table, a furious look on his face that unfortunately, Bucky recognizes. “You take that back, you asshole!” Steve shouts, throwing himself headfirst at some guy who is equally as mad. 

“God fucking damnit, Steven!” Sam shouts, shoving his way through the crowd. “I leave you alone for one goddamn second to pay our fucking tab and this is what happens! And you wonder why we can’t go anywhere anymore! This is why we can’t have nice things!”

Bucky groans and sets his bottle on the table gently. “Clint.” Clint’s eyes snap to him. “I would love to go out with you sometime, but I gotta stop my friend from getting his skinny ass kicked right now. Raincheck?”

Clint grins at him and sets his bottle down as well. “No better way to get to know someone than to see how they fight.”

Bucky grins at him. “I knew there was a reason I liked you,” he says, and then he throws himself into what has become a full out bar fight, Clint right beside him.

~

Later, when he’s spitting blood out of his mouth and smacking Steve upside the head, Clint worms his fingers through Bucky’s and grins at him, adjusting one of his hearing aids with his free hand.

Bucky only winces a little when Clint’s mouth lands right on his split lip, but he gets over it quick enough.


	4. 4: Breakup Playlists

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> clearly, you’re going through a bad breakup because this playlist is the most depressing thing I’ve ever heard and I’m begging you _please_ change it

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> prompt: clearly, you’re going through a bad breakup because this playlist is the most depressing thing I’ve ever heard and I’m begging you _please_ change it
> 
> pairing: winterhawk (Bucky/Clint)
> 
> rating: E

**Bucky**

Bucky has _had_ it. The guy next door has been playing _the_ most depressing playlist for days now. _Days._ Without pause. And normally, Bucky doesn’t give a shit about what the guy next door does - hell, he’s pretty sure he’s heard him jack off once or twice through their paper-thin walls - but he has an exam in two days, and this playlist is fucking with his studying. Grumbling to himself, he shoves his chair away from his desk and stands up, yanking on a shirt angrily. 

“Goin’ somewhere, Buck?” Steve asks, looking up from the couch. He’s got a smudge of pencil on his nose. 

“Yeah, across the hall to beat some taste into whichever idiot is playing this god awful music,” Bucky grumps.

“Have fun, let me know if we need to hide a body,” Steve says absently, going back to his art. Bucky lets the corner of his mouth curl up in amusement - that’s the marker of true friendship right there. He storms across the hall and bangs on 3A roughly, then does it again when a minute passes and no one answers.

He does it again, shaking the door in its frame, and is just about to turn around and go back to his apartment when the door flies open and a shirtless blond dude Bucky’s seen around once or twice is suddenly standing there. “Can I help you?” He asks.

Bucky studiously ignores the way his mouth has gone dry at the unblemished canvas of golden skin in front of him, and says, “Look pal, clearly you’re going through something - bad breakup or whatever. But I have been listening to your goddamn sad music for five days straight, I have an exam in two days, and it’s messing with my ability to study. So I am literally _begging_ here, please change the goddamn music to something else.”

The guy Bucky would very much like to bite stares at him blankly. “How did you know I was going through a bad breakup?” He asks, furrowing his brow. Bucky wants to kiss his face until he smiles. 

“You’re literally listening to a song called ‘Dying Alone’,” Bucky says, raising an eyebrow. “What else could it be?”

“I could have cancer,” the guy argues, and he seems to realize how shitty of a thing that is to say almost exactly when Bucky processes it. 

“That was -”

“Really shitty of me, yeah I know,” the guy sighs. He scrubs a hand over his face. “‘M Clint. Sorry about the music, I’ll turn it down.” 

He goes to turn away and go back inside, and Bucky has no idea what comes over him, but he blurts, “You know, they say the best way to get over someone is to get under someone else.” Clint freezes and turns around, eyeing Bucky speculatively. 

“Really,” he says, mouth twitching, “That’s what you’re going with here.”

And Bucky could probably make it into a joke, but there’s a hint of challenge in Clint’s voice and Bucky goddamn Barnes has had Steve Rogers for a best friend for most of his life - you don’t do that unless you’re a stubborn son of a bitch (sorry, Ma). So he leans against the doorframe, drags his gaze up and down Clint’s body (yum, still biteable) and says, “That’s what I’m going with.”

Clint’s breath hitches and he takes a half-step back into his apartment. “Well then,” he grins, “If that’s what they say.” He reaches out and grabs Bucky by the strings on his sweatpants, pulling him into the apartment and shutting the door behind him. Clint crowds Bucky against the door, pressing their hips together and wrapping his hands around Bucky’s waist. “Okay?” He breathes, his breath washing over Bucky’s face. 

“So okay,” Bucky responds, and then they’re kissing and Bucky is thoroughly in awe (and a lot turned on) by the way Clint takes charge of the kiss, licking his way into Bucky’s mouth and winding a hand through his hair. All Bucky can really do is just _take_ it, so that’s what he does. He runs his hands along Clint’s arms, his back - eventually coming down to his muscular ass and giving it a squeeze. 

Clint laughs into his mouth, taking Bucky’s hands off his ass and pinning them above his head. Bucky groans and his hips jerk forward, grinding his bulge into Clint’s sizeable one. “You like that, huh?” Clint asks, his voice husky into Bucky’s ear. Bucky nods breathlessly, trying to do it again. Clint moves back a tad, keeping Bucky’s arms pinned and his hips just out of reach, watching him whine in disappointment. “Y’know, if we’re gonna do this,” Clint starts, “I should probably know your name.”

“Bucky.” Fuck, he sounds wrecked already, and they’ve barely gotten started. Bucky’s fully aware he’s a bit of a cockslut when it gets down to it, and he’s nothing but proud of that - but he’s had more than a few partners who make fun of him for it, so he can’t really be blamed for tensing up. 

Clint obviously notices, because he furrows his brow again (Bucky still wants to kiss his face) and leans in a little closer, whispering, “Don’t be nervous, I like an enthusiastic partner.” He presses a kiss to the patch of skin just below Bucky’s ear and Bucky _moans_ , broken and pleading into his ear. “There we go,” he says, pulling Bucky’s arms down from above his head, “Let me hear you, sweet thing.” 

Bucky yelps when Clint picks him up and tosses him over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes, but he’s not really complaining because now he has an excellent view of Clint’s ass. He runs his hands along the curve of it, staying over the clothes and giving a squeeze every now and again. By the time Clint tosses him on the bed, making him bounce a couple times, Bucky’s gotten a decent idea for what Clint’s ass looks like underneath those ratty sweatpants. “Strip,” Bucky orders, and the way Clint laughs before indulging him leaves him with no questions as to who is in charge here. (Hint: it’s not Bucky.)

“Demanding little thing, aren’t we?” Clint asks, but clearly it’s rhetorical as he pulls off his sweats and tosses them out of sight, revealing long, tanned legs that lead up to the most mouth-watering cock Bucky has seen in a while. Fuck, he can actually _feel_ his mouth watering at the sight of it, and suddenly there’s nothing he wants more than to get his mouth on Clint’s dick. 

“Can I suck you?” He blurts, eyes glued to the gentle sway of Clint’s dick as he moves towards the bed. 

Clint stops. “You -”

“Want to suck that gorgeous dick? Yes, please,” Bucky interrupts, staring at his dick. 

“Condom?” Clint asks. “I’m clean, got the test results on my desk if you wanna see ‘em.” He hands them over and Bucky glances over them, noting the date (a week ago) and the truth of what Clint says. He pulls out his phone and scrolls through the pictures, tapping on his latest test results (two weeks ago, also clean). “Buchanan, huh?” Clint asks. 

“Middle name. Sister called me Bucky and it stuck. Can I suck your dick now?”

Clint snorts. “Alright then, if you’re that desperate for it.” Bucky lets out a little whine at the word ‘desperate’, and Clint raises an eyebrow but doesn’t comment, just sits down on the end of the bed and spreads his legs. 

Bucky scrambles to get off the bed, nearly hitting his head off the side table in his rush to get between Clint’s legs. He drops to his knees with a thud, barely feeling the dull ache that radiates through his knees at the impact. Leaning forward, he wraps his mouth around the head of Clint’s cock and sucks, giving little kitten licks to the head and around the slit. Clint curses, a hand falling into Bucky’s hair, and Bucky pushes his head into that hand until Clint gets the memo and wraps a chunk of Bucky’s hair around his fist. Bucky pulls off Clint’s dick with a _pop_ and says, “You can pull it, if you wanna,” trying to sound like he doesn’t care one way or the other, when in fact, he very much does care. 

“Like having your hair pulled, do you?” Clint asks, giving a slight tug on Bucky’s hair. He moans around Clint’s dick and bobs a little deeper down, pulling a breath in through his nose as the tip of Clint’s dick bumps the back of his throat. 

Look, Bucky’s _damn_ good at sucking dick, alright - all of his partners have said as much, and Bucky always makes sure to learn something new from each partner to add to his blowjob bag of tricks. He takes pleasure in giving pleasure, so when he hears Clint swear viciously as Bucky swallows down his cock to the root, it sends a jolt of arousal right to his rock-hard dick, still in his jogging pants. He hums around Clint’s dick, relishing in the moans it gets from him. 

“Fuck, you’re good at that,” Clint says in awe, running his thumb over Bucky’s stretched bottom lip. Bucky hums in response, slipping a hand down over his crotch to grind into for some relief. He pulls off Clint’s cock and starts jacking him off with his free hand, looking up through his eyelashes at the blond man. 

“I do my best,” he says hoarsely, smirking when Clint’s eyes widen at the sound of his voice. He knows how fucked out he sounds, how it’s clear that everyone is going to know what he was doing that made his voice sound like he gargled gravel for the next few days - and he takes pride in it. Without any fanfare, he sucks Clint’s dick back into his mouth, taking a moment to just enjoy the feel of it on his tongue, the heavy weight of it and the smell of Clint’s musk in his nose. This, right here, is what he likes best about sucking dick. The closeness it makes him feel, like he’s doing something appreciated and _useful_. 

Clint’s hand tightens in his hair, and he absently realizes that he’s moaning, the sound vibrating up and down Clint’s cock, making it pulse in Bucky’s mouth. Bucky grins as best he can around his mouthful of cock and takes a deep breath - then swallows Clint’s dick down his throat and hums, as hard as he can. “Fucking Christ -” Clint comes with a shout, clearly not expecting it, and empties his dick down Bucky’s throat, cursing and swearing as he does. 

“Well,” Bucky says, pulling off and smacking his lips, “That was fun.” He gives one final lick to the head of Clint’s cock, snickering when Clint twitches, and makes to stand. 

Clint pulls him back onto the bed and hovers over him, arms bracketing Bucky’s head. “Where do you think you’re going?”

Bucky shrugs languidly, still idly palming his dick through his jogging pants. “Was gonna take care of this myself, but if you’d rather...”

Clint grins at him wickedly, and Bucky is struck with the thought that he’s probably going to regret saying that. Clint leans over and grabs a bottle of lube out of the nightstand. “I think,” he says, pulling off Bucky’s pants and shirt, “That I’m going to make you sit on my lap and make yourself come without using your hands.” He flips Bucky over and manhandles him into position - Bucky’s straddling one of Clint’s thighs, his dick leaking a small pool of precome onto the golden skin.

He pours the lube generously onto Bucky’s dick, making him hiss at the temperature change, and then settles back onto the bed and just - watches. Bucky looks at him, raising an eyebrow. 

“Well?” Clint says, arms behind his head. He’s lounging, like he doesn’t have a care in the world. “I told you what you could do.”

“And if I say no?” Bucky asks. 

“Then we stop, I give you a handie, and we go our separate ways,” Clint answers, a serious look on his face. Bucky hums in thought, then gives an experimental thrust, biting off a whine at the sparks of pleasure and humiliation that zing up his spine as he starts to rut furiously against Clint’s thigh. “Bet that feels good, don’t it?” Clint asks, eyes blown wide as he watches Bucky move back and forth on his leg.

“So good, uff -” Bucky gasps, whining. His hands scrabble for something to grab and Clint grabs them, twisting their fingers together. He tilts his thigh up, giving Bucky a new angle to work against, and the combination of Clint’s eyes on him, watching like this is the hottest thing he’s ever seen and the stimulation on his cock make Bucky cry out Clint’s name as his orgasm rips through him, still thrusting convulsively.

“Fuuuck,” he moans, slumping over once he comes down. 

“Well, we didn’t quite get there,” Clint says amused, and he nudges Bucky off of him and disappears, coming back moments later with two washcloths. He wipes himself clean, then does the same to Bucky, blinking innocently up at him and he handles Bucky’s soft dick gently.

“Mean,” Bucky admonishes when Clint gives his dick a squeeze before tossing the washcloth away. 

“You like it,” Clint says, climbing back into the bed and tugging Bucky against his chest. “What’s a guy gotta do to get some decent afterglow around here?”

Bucky snorts, but stops trying to wiggle free. “I told you, I’ve got an exam in two days.”

“Yeah, and your brain is probably fried from all the studying you’ve been doing, not to mention the mind-blowing sex you just had.” Clint tweaks Bucky’s nipple playfully. 

“Mind-blowing, huh,” Bucky says, amused. He wiggles in Clint’s grip, turning around to face him. Clint nods, and Bucky’s breath catches as he notices how beautiful Clint is - eyes sparkling with humour, a wry grin on his lips... 

“Yep, mind-blowing,” Clint grins.

“Well, I can’t call it mind-blowing if I have nothing else to compare it to,” Bucky says, heart racing in his chest. “I mean, for all I know, you could be a completely average lover, and I just caught you on a good day.”

“Baby, all my days are good days,” Clint leers, wiggling his eyebrows ridiculously. Bucky laughs and shoves his chest, letting his hands linger. 

“Well, I wouldn’t be opposed to testing that theory,” he says. 

“Me either,” Clint smiles at him. “Does this mean we’re going again?”

Bucky groans. “Christ, not _now_ , give a man _some_ time to recover.” Clint laughs, his shoulders shaking and pulls Bucky closer, burying his nose in Bucky’s hair. “Hey, Clint?” Bucky asks. 

Clint hums. “Mmm?”

“Does this mean you’ll stop playing that playlist?” Bucky shouts with laughter as Clint digs his fingers into Bucky’s side, snickering. 

“It’s a good playlist!” Clint whines. “Looks like you were right, though.”

“About what?”

“The best way to get over someone _is_ to get under someone else.” And then it’s Clint’s turn to shout with laughter as Bucky tickles him, and as Clint rolls on top of him to stop any further assaults, Bucky finds himself thinking that he never wants Clint to play that playlist again. Not while Bucky’s around to keep it from happening, anyway.


	5. Oatmeal Raisin Cookies & Trust Issues

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: you’re constantly bringing me food and baked goods and I honestly think you think I’m incapable of taking care of myself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As promised, a new slice of life! Heh. 
> 
> Prompt: you’re constantly bringing me food and baked goods and I honestly think you think I’m incapable of taking care of myself
> 
> Pairing: Amerihawk (Clint/Steve)
> 
> Rating: G

**Clint**

“You should eat something,” Steve says. Clint blinks up at him from his blanket burrito. 

“I ate something yesterday,” he responds. Steve sighs and walks away, and Clint thinks that’s the end of it. He’s wrong. An hour later, Steve comes back, smelling of fresh-baked bread, and hands Clint a perfectly made PB & J sandwich on a plate.

“Eat it, please,” he asks, and how can Clint say no to that face? More importantly, how could he say no to free food? So he nods and takes the sandwich, stuffing it into his mouth. A moan of delight - also surprise, but mostly the first thing - escapes him. 

“Shit, Steve, this is delicious!” He examines what’s left of the sandwich. “Where’d you get this? I gotta check them out.”

Steve flushes and rubs at the back of his neck. “I made it,” he mumbles.

Clint’s mouth drops open. “You _made_ this? Steve, this is incredible!”

“It’s just a peanut butter and jelly sandwich,” Steve says, shrugging it off. 

“No, it’s the _best_ peanut butter and jelly sandwich I’ve ever put into my mouth, and I’ve put a lot of them into my mouth!” Clint shoves the rest of the sandwich into his mouth, chewing emphatically. 

“I’m glad you like it,” Steve says. He goes even pinker at Clint’s moan of agreement and practically rushes out of the room. Clint’s a little sad at that - half because he’s trying to figure out how to get Steve to make him more food, and half because he may have a major crush on the man.

~~

“Try this,” Steve says, shoving something into Clint’s mouth as he walks into the kitchen. It’s honestly only because it’s Steve that Clint doesn’t immediately spit it out and wash out his mouth. 

“Mmph -” Clint chews. Swallows. Considers. “That was pretty good,” he decides. “What was it?”

Steve’s shoulders slump. “White chocolate brownie mix,” he says, “But you couldn’t even tell.”

Clint puts his hands on Steve’s shoulders and looks him in the eye. “Steve,” he says seriously, “I couldn’t tell because I am a hick from the middle of buttfuck nowhere, Iowa. I couldn’t tell a chocolate chip cookie from an oatmeal raisin one before I got here - sidenote, those things are the reason I have trust issues.”

“Right,” Nat says dryly from beside him, “Not the years spent as an assassin, and then as a spy, and then as a superhero or anything. Oatmeal raisin cookies gave you trust issues.”

“See?” Clint says. “She gets me.”

Steve snorts. “You really thought it was good?”

“One hundred percent,” Clint says sincerely. “I expect to get some of those when you’re done, if they’re not for charity or something.” Steve nods at him and goes back to baking, and Clint and Natasha head down to the range for some training.

When Clint gets back to his room that night, there’s a plastic-wrapped plate on the table beside his door with a note on it from Steve. 

_They weren’t for charity, so I gave you the best of the bunch. Enjoy!_

_~ Steve_

They’re pretty fucking delicious. Clint may or may not lick the plate clean. This is not helping his crush on Steve.

~~

“You bought me an entire pizza,” Clint says blearily, rubbing at his eyes and yawning. 

“I thought you might be hungry after the mission,” Steve says, standing outside his door with a sheepish look on his face and a steaming pizza in his hand. 

“I’m gonna be honest here, Steve,” Clint says, inviting him in, “I am always hungry for pizza but I might fall asleep before I can enjoy it.”

“I can leave it in your fridge,” Steve offers. “I know you like it cold better anyway.”

“Go nuts,” Clint says, waving his hand and face planting onto the couch. “I’ll be here.” He drifts off to the sound of Steve puttering about his kitchen, briefly aware of someone tucking a blanket over his body and brushing what feels like a kiss over his forehead before he’s asleep again. 

He wakes up surprisingly well-rested, from a nap on the couch, and heads into the kitchen. He only remembers the pizza Steve brought him when he opens his fridge and there it is, sitting there in all its glory with a small note from Steve on top.

_Hope you slept well. This is from your favourite place downtown. (I ran out of time to make it myself) Hope it’s still okay!_

_~ Steve_

It is, and he’s not joking here, literally the best thing he has ever put in his mouth. And he’s put a lot of things into his mouth. This pizza, though... Thing is, Clint’s not sure if it tastes so good because it’s his favourite pizza from his favourite place, or if it’s because Steve brought it to him. 

“Oh shit,” Clint says, coming to a sudden realization. “Steve _likes_ me!”

~~

“Do you bake me things and bring me food because you think I can’t take care of myself?” Clint asks. Steve drops the pan he’s holding onto the counter with a clatter and stares at him. They’re the only two in the kitchen (which Clint did on purpose, thank you very much) but Steve still takes a few minutes to answer him. 

“What - Clint, no!” Steve insists. “That’s not it at all!”

“Then why do you do it?” 

Steve fumbles. “Uh... I like to bake?” Clint says nothing. “I really do like to bake, I also just... really like... _you_?”

Clint blinks. He wasn’t expecting his theory to be _confirmed_ , goddammit. “Oh. I... really like you too?”

“Oh,” Steve says, “That’s... good.”

“Yep.” They sit in silence for a bit longer, avoiding each other’s gaze and when their eyes finally do meet, all it takes is one twitch of Clint’s lips to set them both off, howling with laughter. 

“I can’t believe I fucking said ‘that’s good’,” Steve chokes out, tears of mirth sliding down his face.

“At least you had a full sentence!” Clint cries. “I just said ‘yep’. Who does that?”

“You, apparently,” Steve mutters, setting them both off again. They both end up on the floor somehow, thighs brushing against each other. Clint reaches over and snags Steve’s hand, intertwining their fingers. 

“This okay?” He checks.

“Very,” Steve breathes and then he leans over and kisses Clint, right on the mouth. He tastes like chocolate and Clint changes his mind. Steve’s tongue is definitely the best thing he’s ever had in his mouth.


	6. 6: Bodyguard AU

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: my parent hires you to be my bodyguard but I’m too old for this shit and I can take care of myself so let’s play this little dance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt: my parent hires you to be my bodyguard but I’m too old for this shit and I can take care of myself so let’s play this little dance

“This is Steve Rogers,” Harold sneers. “He’s your new bodyguard. Try not to run this one off, boy.” With that, he turns and walks away, leaving Clint standing in awkward silence with a mountain of a man.

Rogers turns to him and reaches out a hand, smiling. “It’s nice to-” 

“Let’s get one thing straight,” Clint interrupts, cutting him off. “He may have hired you to be my bodyguard, but we both know he means glorified babysitter. I can take care of myself and I certainly don’t want you following me around everywhere and reporting back to him. So let’s just agree that you’re going to let me do what I want while telling Harold whatever he wants to hear, and in return, I’ll let you keep this cushy job with all the perks. Agreed?”

Rogers stares at him, then blinks. “All due respect, sir,” he starts, “But-”

Clint rolls his eyes and cuts him off again. “Don’t call me sir, my name is Clint. Are we agreed or not?”

Steve lifts an eyebrow. “All due respect, Clint, but your father hired me to protect you. I’m going to do my job.”

Clint groans and turns on his heel, stalking out of the room. “Great. You’re one of _those_. Fine, whatever, just keep your mouth shut about where I go, who I see, and what I do.” Reaching his bedroom, Clint walks inside and slams the door in Steve’s face, then faceplants into his bed. 

He’s too fucking old for this shit. Just because Harold is a big-name politician now - which is a whole different kind of terrifying - and wants to ‘get the approval of the masses’ or whatever by showing he ‘loves his family’ and ‘wants them safe’ doesn’t mean that Clint needs a fucking babysitter. He groans into his pillow, then rolls over to stare at the ceiling. This is gonna suck.

* * *

The next morning, Clint wakes up at fuck o’clock in the morning, gets dressed as quietly as he can and climbs out his window. The rose trellis underneath his window has been there since he was a kid, and he and Barney used to use it to sneak out all the time. They never got caught, and even after Barney moved across the country to get away, Clint kept using it whenever he needed an escape from this damn house or just an escape period. 

“Going somewhere?” The voice comes out of nowhere, startling Clint and making him miss a step. He drops for a terrifying few seconds, then his flailing hand catches the trellis and stops him cold. Heart pounding as he dangles from one hand, Clint chances a look beneath him to find Rogers, staring up at him, arms outstretched like he was going to try and catch Clint if he fell. 

“Fuckin’-” Clint curses and grumbles to himself the rest of the way down the trellis and once his feet are on solid ground again he grabs Rogers by the wrist and drags him far enough away from the house that no one will hear him. “What the fuck, Rogers? Are you trying to get me killed?”

“I thought you heard me coming!” Rogers says. “I wasn’t exactly being sneaky.”

Clint snorts, shaking his head. “Figures,” he mutters. Sighing, he turns his head to show Rogers his hearing aids, tucked behind the mangled cartilage of his ear. “I’m mostly deaf,” he explains. “I’m guessing Harold didn’t say anything.” Rogers shakes his head. “‘Course not.”

“I’m sorry,” Rogers apologizes. Clint waves him off, distractedly checking the shitty watch on his wrist. “Late for something?”

“More like someone else is late,” Clint mutters, right as a car pulls up at the end of the driveway, engine idling and headlights off. “Never mind.” He starts walking towards the car and he’s distracted enough that he doesn’t notice Rogers following him for a few steps. “What are you doing?” He asks, stopping in his tracks.

“Coming with you?” Rogers says, raising an eyebrow. “I am your bodyguard.”

Clint shakes his head. “Yeah, no. Not happening. Go stand in front of my bedroom door or something, make sure no one finds out I left.”

“But-” Rogers objects.

Clint holds up a hand. “Look, so far you’re not the worst bodyguard I’ve ever had. But not being terrible doesn’t mean I’m letting you come with me.”

“I- Thanks?” Steve says.

Clint nods. “No problem. See you later.” With that, he slides into the car and it pulls away, leaving Steve standing in the dark on the driveway.

“New bodyguard?” Nat asks, smirking. Clint groans, letting his head fall back against the headrest. 

“Let’s just get the hell away from here,” he grunts. “Please?”

“As you wish,” Nat says, laughing at him. 

* * *

Clint tumbles to the floor with a curse, grumbling as he dusts himself off and pulls his window shut. “Have a nice day?” For the second time that day, Rogers’ voice gives Clint a heart attack and he nearly punches a hole through his window in his flailing. 

“For _fuck’s_ sake, Rogers, again?” He turns and sees Rogers sitting at his desk, watching him. “Jesus, you get off on scaring the shit out of people or something?”

“Or something,” Rogers agrees. He watches as Clint trudges over to his closet and starts to dig through it, grumbling. “How come you’re covered in dirt?”

“If I told you, I’d have to kill you,” Clint deadpans, pulling off his shirt without a second thought. He pulls on a clean one and tosses the dirty one in his hamper, then turns to face Rogers with a hand on his hip. “There a reason you’re hanging out in my room like some sort of creeper?”

“You’re sick. I’m watching over you,” Rogers says with a straight face. 

Clint snickers despite himself. “Right. Did I miss anything I shouldn’t have?” He scrubs a hand through his hair as he shoos Rogers away from his desk.

Taking a seat on his bed instead, Rogers watches him sit at his desk. “Your dad was pretty mad that you missed breakfast. Said something about press? Told me to tell you to be there for breakfast tomorrow morning.”

“Great,” Clint grunts. He leans back in his chair, drumming his fingers on the desk. “Family breakfast, hurray.”

“You don’t sound too excited,” Rogers notes. 

“Excellent deduction, genius,” Clint says sarcastically. “Dunno if you’ve noticed, Rogers, but my family’s not exactly big on spending time together. But if Harold said I had to be at breakfast, then I have to be at breakfast.” 

“It’s only one meal,” Rogers says hesitantly. 

“Sure, Rogers,” Clint mutters, “Only one.”

Later, after Rogers has left him alone, Clint gets a small piece of reflective purple tape and sticks it to the corner of his window. As he finishes smoothing it down, he hears voices in the hallway outside his room. “I’m sorry sir,” Rogers is saying, “He’s really not feeling well. Throwing up almost constantly. Projectile vomit, too.” Clint muffles a snort.

“Just remind about breakfast tomorrow,” Harold’s voice says gruffly. Clint hears his footsteps recede down the hallway and barely backs away from the door in time to avoid being hit in the face as it swings open and Rogers slips inside. He shuts the door behind him and shrugs at whatever look is on Clint’s face.

“I get the feeling you’d rather not talk to him,” Rogers says. “Was I wrong?”

Clint shakes his head, eyeing Rogers thoughtfully. “Not at all.” Maybe this new bodyguard isn’t so bad after all. 

**Author's Note:**

> follow me on the [ tweets](https://twitter.com/candycanedarcy)
> 
> follow me on the [ tumbles](https://candycanedarcy.tumblr.com/)


End file.
